By the Bluest of Seas

Boris Barnet's By the Bluest of Seas, from 1936, is a Soviet collectivist musical with more than a whiff of eros and charm. Two men, one an engineer, travel to an island in the Caspian Sea to help the locals by repairing the village's only motorboat. The duo soon become rivals in romance over a local woman. The romantic triangle is not altogether different from those in Hollywood films of the era, certainly any number of Howard Hawks or Raoul Walsh films. Barnet displays an affection for the natives of what is present day Azerbaijan that links his work more closely to Alexander Dovzhenko than to such city slickers as Sergei Eisenstein and Vsevolod Pudovkin who were more apt to stereotype rustics as rubes and dupes. 

The closest analogy I have seen to this film is Enchanted Desna, a 1964 effort from Yuliya Solntseva, Dovzhenko's widow, that is a depiction of Dovzhenko's childhood in the Ukraine. Both films boast a poetic appreciation of the peasantry's bond with their natural surroundings. By the Bluest of Seas contains astonishing moments of plein air cinema, rejoicing in sensuality and the beauty of nature. You can take your CGI starships, but it is the majesty of nature that is truly magical, as shown in this film: whether it is a couple walking a deserted beach or skiffs skimming on top of the sea. The return of a presumed dead comrade rivals the climax of History is Made at Night as one of the most convulsively rhapsodic of 1930s cinema.

I write this as Russian forces are attempting to conquer the Ukraine republic. I still love Russian culture while being mindful that it is a country that has been ruled for centuries by evil autocrats with the occasional inbred dimwit. Currently streaming on Kanopy, By the Bluest of Seas is a beacon of hope and humanism in a dark world. 

Kongo

William Cowen's Kongo is a middling horror flick from 1932. A revenge tale set amidst MGM's African jungle set, Kongo has one chief asset: its leading man Walter Huston, dependable as always. Lupe Velez is nice to look at, especially when drenched by fake jungle sweat. Conrad Nagle and Virginia Bruce are serviceable. William Cowen's direction lacks intensity, which is unfortunate because what a potboiler like this needs is some juice. A point of comparison is the Tod Browning, Lon Chaney film West of Zanzibar, based on the same source material as Kongo. It has more juice. 
 

The Strange Little Cat

Ramon Zurcher's The Strange Little Cat, from 2013, pictures an extended German family gathering and preparing for a dinner. Pictures is the operative word because the film is virtually devoid of plot, drama or intrigue. Yet, within theses narrow confines and its scant 72 minutes, Zurcher conjures the god of small things and the many tiny pockets of drama and comedy that fill our daily lives.

Domestic portraiture is the meat of this movie. The human performers are pictured watching more often than talking. Figures are often facing away from the camera. A dog, cat, and a moth vie for space in the frame. The spaces displayed in the film are territories that are vied for amidst petty domestic conflicts with the more junior humans being the primary passive aggressors. Zurcher, however, also finds beauty in the space of a corridor or still life shots of oranges, glasses of milk, and a washer.

Three flashbacks illustrate moments of vulnerability shared with family. The Strange Little Cat is a singular film that is exquisitely crafted. The ensemble work is warmly familial. The film verges on the soporific, but I found its picturing of the universe in a few grains of sand to be bracing.